Never Forget
by Handwritten
Summary: He promised himself he would never forget - maybe a portrait, plus a few stolen pencils are the things to help him remember his past. And her. Namixas oneshot.


**Never Forget**  
Recommended song: _Roaring Tides II - Clannad_

* * *

Roxas liked to sit beside her as she sketched, though his eyes weren't always watching what she was creating on paper. Like his mind, his dark orbs drifted and wandered. Sometimes he watched her eyes flicker to and fro as she drew, or he simply found an interesting spot on the glaring white wall to stare at while his mind traveled elsewhere.

Whenever another person peered over to see what she was drawing, Naminé felt an uneasy tingle traveling down her spine. Unless it was _him_. Because she knew he wasn't one to criticize, or judge - and she liked the look of his gloved hand casually resting on the tabletop, or the feeling of his nimble fingers playing with a strand of her light hair.

If she turned her head, she would see that he wasn't really watching the fluid strokes of her pencil. He only had eyes for her, so the wooden utensil wasn't bringing any competition to the table. Once in a while, when she would pause to look at her progress, Roxas would lean over and brush his lips against hers, or wipe a smudge of pastel off her cheek. The gentle touch would bring forward delighted shivers on both sides, and he always savored the closeness.

But today was different. He wasn't allowed to touch her, or peek over her shoulder to see what she was concentrating so heavily on. He wasn't even allowed to _move _- for when he did, a stern glare from light blue eyes would be sent his way.

This was the first time she hadn't been forced to capture his blue eyes from a mere memory. She could gaze at the real thing, and not feel any heat move to her cheeks. For she was an artist, simply gazing upon her model. It was easy for her to slip into another body; where she could squint as she stared at the intricate spikes of his hair, and not think about how she had cautiously run her fingers through them the night before.

But _he _wasn't looking at her like a subject would look at the artist. His eyes held all the adoration his young body could possibly muster, and there was something very honest and truthful about the way he held himself around her. That is what Naminé was trying to move onto her paper. Her lips were pressed in a relaxed yet firm line, and once in a while she would frown as her grip on the pencil faltered, and she would have to erase a stray line.

When she had finished all that could be done with her pencil, she set it off to the side, and picked up one of her many colored pencils. Roxas didn't move an inch as she shaded in his hair (for some reason, she always started with the hair, and finished with his bright eyes). His neck was starting to feel the strain of sitting still for so long, but he didn't let his position waver. He contented himself with watching her look at him - without having to make sure Xemnas or Vexen were anywhere near. Otherwise he would never hear the end of it if they spotted him squeezing her hand with his own, or smiling gently down at the girl.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity to Roxas, she put down her blue pencil.

She nodded to Roxas, and he exhaled loudly as his shoulders relaxed, and he slumped forwards. His back almost cracked as he stretched his arms, and he groaned while rubbing his neck. The smallest smile briefed her lips; she allowed herself to gaze down at the drawing in awe. The eyes she loved so almost seemed to come alive on the paper, and a familiar thump in her chest resounded as she looked over his strong shoulders and straight jawline.

While her concentration was elsewhere, Roxas picked up her discarded pencil. He could almost feel the heat where her hand had clenched it for so long. Without any hesitation, he carefully slipped it into a pocket of his black cloak. She may or may not notice the disappearance later, but he wanted to have some sort of remembrance. He didn't have the heart to ask her to part with one of her drawings, so that resulted in him taking a stray pencil or crayon from her drawing table more then once.

"What do you think?" Naminé spoke, her lips curving into a smile as she watched his blue eyes widen. She so rarely asked that question. Her pale fingers pushed the paper over the table, and he was very careful when he spun it around so it was right-side up.

He eyed the drawing, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards into a smile. "It's..." He glanced up at her expectant expression. "It's perfect, Naminé."

Roxas had never used the word 'perfect' to describe anything before - even Naminé herself. He had always been able to see some sort of darkness lingering in the background. In the blond girl's other drawings of him, you could see the hint of worry behind his calm facade. That's how Naminé usually saw him - because he was always worried when he was thinking about her. Worried someone may see the two of them together, that he wouldn't be able to stand another minute without touching her, or the small things like her hurting herself when he was climbing one of the many staircases in the castle. Worse - that _he _would be the one to hurt her in the first place. Mentally or physically.

But he had let it all go that day. Her room was quiet and peaceful, and almost everyone had left the castle on a mission (that apparently didn't concern him) - so the castle was practically empty, other then the two of them. So there was only the feeling of happiness emitting from the paper, and the love in his eyes was so obvious that it almost made him blush - is that what he looked like when they were alone together?

"I want you to have it." Naminé looked down at her folded hands, and Roxas opened his mouth to protest. But he halted a moment later, when two simple words dropped from her lips.

"Please, Roxas."

His resistance shattered, and he nodded, carefully setting the portrait to the side. He pulled on her forearms, until she gave in and almost collapsed onto his lap. Her head rested on his shoulder, and he pressed his lips against her hair before burrowing his face against her neck. They both knew their time left together was becoming shorter and shorter, so he breathed in her scent, letting her fill his senses to the brim.

The scent he promised himself he would never forget.

* * *

But such a thing could never last forever.

When his slate of memories had been wiped clean and rewritten, he found himself staring at a small tin box. The setting sun of Twilight Town was warm against his back as he kneeled beside his bed. After much nagging from Olette about the mess (who complained every time the gang all trouped up to Roxas' room to do homework), he had resorted to shoving most of his stuff into his closet. But as he reached under his bed, he felt a weird jolt when his fingers met with the cold metal.

No matter how many times he racked his brain, he couldn't remember putting the box under his bed.

He felt a tingle of familiarity as he carefully pulled the dusty lid off. Inside was a folded piece of paper, and Roxas picked it up uneasily.

Roxas almost dropped it when the final crease had been unfolded. There was no denying it - it was a drawing of himself, chest up. He was adorned in the weirdest thing - a black cloak of some sort. But he had the identical half-grin, and his hair was the same blond mess. Roxas paused when he looked over the carefully drawn eyes - they didn't look like they did today. They didn't contain that same emptiness that only he could see. The same emptiness that resonated throughout his entire body.

_Who drew it? _- he didn't have an answer for that. With a frown, Roxas looked inside the tin. Inside were at least a dozen pencils, colored and plain. He picked one up, rolling it between his fingers.

Why was his heart beating so quickly?

A snippet of blond hair flashed in front of his eyes. It wasn't blond like his own - it was a pale, pale yellow. But even as he stared harder at the pencils, the brief memory did not return. But when he looked at another pencil - a blue one - something else happened. For only a second, he swore he could taste something sweet, like vanilla, on the tip of his tongue. And the scent of...Na..._someone_. It was similar to how the world smells after the rain washes everything away, mixed with the charcoal he often used in art class.

Unthinkingly, Roxas whispered three words to himself. But as they left his lips, he felt an odd stinging behind his eyes, and his eyelashes felt uncomfortably wet and heavy. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling. Why was he crying?

Roxas shook his head, closing the box with some finality. He was going crazy - tearing up at a handful of pencils. But instead of shoving it back under his bed like he told himself to, he placed it carefully on his bedside table. And he couldn't help but feel drawn to it.

He would awake later that night, sensing some sort of disturbance near him. But there wasn't anything in his room - the night was just as quiet as it was when he closed his eyes. When he turned over to slip back into slumber, he would notice something amiss. Though a strange wave of fatigue, he saw that the box beside his bed was gone.

But when he awoke from the shouts of his friends calling to him from the street outside his window, so would the memories of finding it in the first place.

_"I'll never forget."_

* * *

Author's Note

* * *

I can't believe I wrote something that wasn't completely AU. This is my first time, so go easy on me.  
I know that since the drawing is only chest-up, Roxas wouldn't be able to tell it was a cloak. I guess it was his memories in his subconscious reacting XD

^^ And the song I listed at the top is what I listened to when I wrote this. It's a beautiful piano piece :3 - youtube it. (Make sure you add the 'II' at the end of the title, otherwise it's the faster version~)

And follow me on twitter - roxasxnamine  
_Author alert: I'll be adding another oneshot soon!_

**How did Roxas have the box? You decide.**  
**Review :)**


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